


In the Space of a Breath

by cascadingwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Fallen Castiel, Fluff, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:26:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cascadingwings/pseuds/cascadingwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Dean and Cas have sex, it's a mess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Space of a Breath

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on [tumblr](http://cascadingwings.tumblr.com/post/64532935399/the-first-time-dean-and-cas-have-sex-its-a)

The first time Dean and Cas have sex, it’s a mess.

It’s the same night as their first kiss, which is messy too: it’s hands-pinned-to-the-wall, pulling-at-hair, less _kissing_ than it is just moving lips and tongues and hands to try to drag gasps and moans out of each other. It’s sloppy, it’s uncoordinated, and it leaves them both breathless. Dean wants to talk it out—and of _course_ Dean wants to talk it out, because he’s Dean. Because he wants to do this right. Because he wants this to work. Because even though that first kiss is fast and frantic, it isn’t meaningless.

He tells Cas exactly that.

“Cas, Cas, wa—oh, _Jesus_ —Cas, wait, hang on, look at me.”

But Cas is lost already, long gone, head buried in the nook of Dean’s shoulder and busy licking at his ear, nipping at his neck, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. Dean laughs as he pushes him back, and he does his best to take Cas’s face and tilt it up so that he can look into his eyes.

“Cas, wait a sec, I want—“

“I _know_ ," Cas growls, and then he dives right back at Dean’s neck, pushing his hands through soft short hair and scraping his nails along his scalp and holy _hell_ , that feels good, but—

“Come on, man, I said hold up,” Dean says through shaky laughter, shoving weakly at Cas’s chest. He splays out his fingers and holds him at as much of a distance as he can manage—a few inches away. The fallen angel stills grudgingly and meets his eyes, but that poses a challenge Dean hadn’t thought of before: with Cas in front of him now, Dean can see all the heat in his eyes. And that’s a bit overpowering. He stumbles over his words in his haste to get them out. “We should, uh, talk about this, I want to—to make this good, this isn’t just a spur of th—damn it, Cas, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and I—“

But that's when Cas, impatient as ever, decides his time is up. He slips through Dean’s grasp and plasters himself back on the hunter; this time, he forgets all about the neck and goes straight for that stupid, pesky shirt. “Shut up, shut up, _shut up_ ,” Cas groans through his teeth as he manages to wrestle two buttons open. Dean needs to stop wearing shirts. They’re horrible. A complete disservice to everyone in the vicinity, really.

“Cas!” Dean throws his weight forward and around, so that they’re reversed. He slams Cas against the wall—okay, well, doesn’t really _slam_ him, he’d never do that unless—well, unless Cas asked him to or—if that’s what he wanted, or—anyway— _anyway_ , they’ve switched places now, so that Cas’s back is to the wall instead. “Let me talk.”

Cas’s jaw is clenched so tightly it’s a wonder the bones don’t shatter. His breath comes in short bursts. Lustful anger is a good look on him, Dean thinks, but for the moment he’s still. His eyes connect with Dean’s and he waits.

Dean exhales. “Okay. I’m not good with stuff like this, with talking about…stuff like this. But I want you to know that this means—you mean—you’re a lot to me. I don’t want to screw this up. I want us to be something.” He takes a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing, blatantly ignoring the way Cas’s restless hands are creeping back toward his shirt. “Are you getting me, Cas?” Castiel doesn’t meet his eyes. His fingers snag in Dean’s shirt. Who invented buttons? Cas could kill them. “With you, I—I want the real thing.” Cas successfully frees a button. If Dean is going to insist on wearing shirts, Cas will at least try to make sure it’s only t-shirts from now on. Just t-shirts. Preferably nothing _but_ t-shirts. “So I need you to be on the same page, you know?” Another button pops free. “Want this to be good for both of us.” And another. “Wanted this for…feels like forever…” Only one more to go, if he can just… “Cas, fuck, I think I love—“

The last button comes free at the same instant Cas throws himself forward and crushes his lips against Dean’s. He swallows Dean’s last word—doesn’t have to hear it, knows what it’s going to be. Has known it for a long time.

They fall onto the mattress together, and Dean’s shirt hits the floor. And it’s a mess.

It’s Cas pinning Dean’s hands above his head with his own, lacing their fingers around each other's and gripping tightly as they move together. It’s Cas’s face buried in Dean’s hair as he whines, moans, stutters out confessions in languages that Dean doesn’t know. It’s the hunter wrapping his legs around Cas’s back and twisting his body so that he can reach the angel’s mouth with his own. It’s a _mess_ , because Dean is shaking and he feels like his entire being is breaking, like every atom that makes him up is splitting apart, and he cries out and groans deep in his chest because he’s felt this way for a very long time.

This is the thing that burns between them both; it’s sweet and it’s tender, but it’s also maddening and forceful. Dean can feel it shredding him, burrowing in deep, making a home somewhere within the protection of his ribcage. It leaves him short of breath, because it’s also the pressure inside him that’s building, something that has less to do with how Cas is moving his hands and more to do with the look in his eyes as he watches Dean twist and shake and tremble: wonder.

The first time Dean and Cas have sex, it’s a mess because Dean’s a mess. So is Cas. They think that’s okay, though; they can work with that. Hell, they’re _used_ to that. And in the end, it works out just fine—because somewhere in between _Cas, God, wanna kiss you_ and _fuck, Cas, I missed you_ there’s an _I love you, Dean Winchester_ slipped in there, mumbled in the space of a breath, soft and sweet like a promise.

Those are the words that make Dean _really_ shatter apart, safely and in the best way: beneath his fallen angel’s hands.


End file.
